


don't cry over spilt tea

by pinkmanite2 (Pinkmanite)



Category: James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 05:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14634768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/pinkmanite2
Summary: “Pleasure bumping into you, Q,” Bond huffs, obviously quite irked.





	don't cry over spilt tea

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is crossposted on tumblr (baewhishaw), just moving things over to AO3 for safekeeping ♡
> 
> ~
> 
> from the prompt: _erson A is running late somewhere and crashes into Person B, causing both their hot coffees to spill all over the both of them_

Shit. Shitshit _shit_.

Q nearly smashes a finger while shutting his laptop so quickly. M is going to murder him. How could he have possibly forgotten this meeting with Parliament? His grave has been dug and he is beyond dead.

Laptop now securely tucked under an arm and his nearly untouched morning Earl Grey in the other hand, Q darts through the tunnels of MI6 whilst reciting his prayers under his breath. May the lord have mercy. And by lord he means M.

Q is so engrossed by the conflict of which funeral flowers would best compliment his dead body’s complexion that he doesn’t notice an equally flustered and absorbed James Bond bustling toward him.

“Shit _fuck_!”

“Double-oh Seven!”

“Pleasure bumping into you, Q,” Bond huffs, obviously quite irked. He grumbles when he realises his coffee has splattered over his sport coat. He shoots Q a dirty look. The quartermaster gulps in a brief moment of alarm, before his own agitation outweighs any feelings of guilt.

“Ah, Bond, I am so bloody  _sorry_  for ruining your business suit, which you’re currently using for all the business you’re attending to right at this moment. Allow me to offer you my own coat,” Q pouts, “oh wait, mine is bloody  _soiled_  as well.”

If only looks could kill.

Bond sighs and shakes his head in resignation, “alright, I’ll run these to the cleaners. I should’ve paid more mind to where I was going. Go on, then, someone ought to be waiting on you.”

Q blinks and his face heats in slight embarrassment for his overreaction. He nods and utters a brief offering of thanks before heading off to the meeting.

 

~

 

M only manages a good kick to the shin under the table during the meeting and a moment of scolding after the meeting before Q is able to duck into the afternoon rush crowd for his escape. Gotta survive long enough to live another day, yeah? It’s not long before he makes it back to the safety of his boffin lair, ahem, office.

Only to find a certain double-oh making himself extraordinarily comfortable at his private desk.

“Bond?” Q looks at him pointedly.

“Ah, Q, you’re back,” Bond exclaims cheerily. He holds up a garment bag. Q can’t help but smile a bit at how Bond is practically beaming.

“Oh yes! Thank you, Double-oh Seven.”

“Of course,” Bond nods at the folder Q is holding. “How was Parliament?”

“Just lovely,” Q whines, “none of those old pricks understand how important the technology pushes are. We’re only keeping up with the rest of the world when we’re at the cutting edge.” Q falls into one of the chairs opposite his desk. He grabs Bond’s mug and takes of gulp of his coffee. Not his choice but better than none.

Bond only laughs. 

 


End file.
